


'Til The Next Life

by Half



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Half/pseuds/Half
Summary: You got a look in your eyesI knew you in a past lifeOne glance and the avalanche dropsOne look and my heartbeat stops





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGaySmurf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGaySmurf/gifts).



The knight bursts into the grand hall, her fingers drumming nervously on her sword. "Your Highness, we _must_ leave. Your sister-"

"I'm not leaving just because of her," the princess snarls as she paces in front of the throne, fury in her voice. "She can't take my home. She can't take it away from me." She stops in her tracks and spins towards the knight, eyes dark and desperate. "You'd make me leave? Give it all up? To _her_?"

"Yes," the knight says. She softens, cupping the princess's face in her hands gently. "The queen trusts me to keep you safe. _You_ trust me to keep you safe. I can't let you get hurt just to spite a woman who couldn't stand to lose the throne to her younger sister."

The princess stares up at her, trying not to cry. "I don't want to go," she whispers.

"I know. It's okay." The knight grips her sword, turning towards the sound of fighting just outside the doors to the hall. "It'll be okay. Just stay with me."

 

+++++

 

“I’ve heard some rumors,” the innkeeper says as she sits across from the sailor. “Rumors about a pirate.”

The sailor raises an eyebrow, the faintest smirk on her lips. “Oh, really? What kind of pirate?”

“Runs a ship called _The Peacemaker_. With her sister. They don’t _raid towns_ , per se, they just make it their duty to kill every man who brings harm to innocent women and children.” The innkeeper leans forward, lightly brushing a finger along the pistol tattoo on the sailor’s forearm. “I’d imagine you know _nothing_ about _that_ , do you, sailor?”

“Not at all,” the sailor says with a slow smile. “What would you do if you met a pirate anyway?”

“Rent her a room free of charge,” the innkeeper replies. She waves at a hand for a pitcher of rum to be served to the table. Then she stands and pauses, gently skimming her touch over the tattoo again. “Stay as long as your heart desires, _sailor_ ,” she says.

The pirate grins up at her. “It would be my genuine pleasure.”

 

+++

 

Cattle has been moving for days, and everyone on the ranch is exhausted.

The ranch owner and the cowgirl head out to check fences, and they watch from the hill as more cattle is moved on land below them.

“What will we do if those rustlers come back this way?” the cowgirl asks, drumming her fingers on the butt of her rifle. “There aren’t enough of us to stop them.”

“I have faith in you,” the owner replies as she gently strokes her horse’s mane.

The cowgirl snorts. “Me against a posse? You must be out of your head, woman. The sheriff will be picking me up in pieces.”

The owner looks at her out of the corner of her eye, a smile playing across her lips. “You can get the cattle branded so that the rustlers can’t _sell them_ , though, I’d imagine?”

“Oh. Yeah, I can get that handled.”

“Then, see? I have faith in you.” The owner reaches over and playfully pulls the cowgirl’s hat down further over her red hair. “Maybe you’ll even get to fight a cattle rustler.”

“Lord,” the cowgirl mutters as she fixes her hat. “I swear, woman, you’ll be the death of me.”

 

+++

 

“You’re a fool, Corporal, and I’m honestly _stunned_ that you didn’t die in that trench,” the nurse growls, shoving the soldier back into bed before she can weasel her way out of it.

“I’m fine,” the soldier replies adamantly, despite the blood oozing from her temple and the other shocks of injury visible through her torn uniform.

“Fine? You’re _fine_?” The nurse scoffs and pushes a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. “What kind of idiot lets themselves take shrapnel from a howitzer?”

The soldier blinks up at her, brown eyes fuzzy. “Did that private live?”

“What?”

“The one brought in with me.”

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

“That’s why I took shrapnel from a howitzer.”

The nurse stares at her for a long moment before shaking her head, trying not to betray how her eyes soften. “Come on, Corporal,” she says quietly. “Let’s try to keep you in one piece, shall we?”

 

+++

 

The girl on the stage is dressed as a flapper, and she has a hell of a voice.

She also knows damn well that the woman in the suit in the back of the nightclub has been staring at her, all night, throughout every single song.

Every time the singer looks at her and winks, the woman takes a drink of her glass of highball.

When the singer finishes her set, she slowly makes her way over to the woman’s booth and takes a seat next to her. “You’re a new face,” she says quietly, playing with the collar of the woman’s suit. “What brings you here?”

“New job,” the woman replies. “Just moved here by request of my new boss.”

“Ah.” The singer notices the mob boss in the corner take note of the conversation, nod once at her, then go back to his card game. “ _Ah._ I see.” She leans over and whispers in the woman’s ear, “You’re a delivery girl.”

The woman smirks. “Of a sort.”

The singer chuckles quietly. “Well then. That means you deliver people into the bottom of the river.”

“A lady never tells,” the enforcer replies, grinning at the singer.

“I think I could make you if I wanted to,” the singer teases. “I saw you watch me sing.” She lingers a kiss just short of the enforcer’s ear. “You aren’t as tough as you say you are, baby.” She nips the woman’s ear lightly, finishes the highball, then heads back for the stage.

 

+++

 

She’s not sure what they’re so mad about, but, then again, she’s always known that people get very passionate about sports.

But as she’s swinging a bat to get rid of the guy trying to punch her in the face for her team winning a game, the baseball player is pretty sure this is ridiculous.

There are too many of them, there’s too much anger, and she just plays ball. She can’t win this fight.

And then, suddenly, two of the men surrounding her have their heads knocked together so hard that they drop to the ground.

“That was a good game,” the tall woman in factory worker’s clothing says cheerfully as she joins the baseball player’s side. “Too bad you won in front of these assholes.”

The baseball player ducks as her own bat is ripped from her hands and swung at her head. “It does, in fact, put a bit of a damper on the victory.”

The factory worker punches a guy in the face and then grins at her. “At least this part is fun, too.”

 

+++

 

The firefighter still smells like smoke as she hurries inside, tossing her jacket onto the coat rack on her way to the living room.

“Baby, it’s on,” the teacher says from the couch, staring intently at the small black and white television.

She sits down, gathering the teacher and their beagle in her lap, and they sit in a tense, hushed house.

Until they hear words.

_That’s one small step for man…_

 

+++

 

They got out of practice with their college soccer team just in time to make it to the theatre. The forward is bouncing on the balls of her feet, rambling excitedly, as the goalkeeper watches in amusement.

“I can’t wait,” the forward says, dragging the goalkeeper forward by her t-shirt. “Come _on_!”

“The movie only just premiered,” the goalkeeper replies with a laugh. “We have plenty of time.”

“But I don’t want anyone to tell me what happens.” The forward yanks the goalkeeper’s shirt harder. “I need to know how they rescue Han! How they defeat the Empire! If Vader really is Luke’s father! I don’t want some dude on the street to just _tell me_. I need to _see it_!”

“Okay, okay,” the goalkeeper says, quickening her pace. “But I hope you understand that I can run faster than you, so…”

The forward glares at her. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t… what?”

“Race there.”

“Okay!” The goalkeeper takes off at a sprint.

_“Dammit!”_ The forward takes off after her, laughing the entire way to the theatre.

 

+++

 

The Jeep pulls over, closely followed by a police car flashing blue and red lights.

“Canada, huh?” the cop says, reading the driver’s license. “Why the heck would you want to be in New Jersey?”

“I like vacations,” the driver replies.

“And going over the speed limit.”

The driver smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, that too.”

After a moment, the cop hands back the license. “Try to slow down, would you? I like vacations too. I won’t get one if you do something stupid like run into a deer and I have to spend my day doing paperwork.”

The driver laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind, Officer. And, hey, if you ever need a vacation, I can tell you where to go.”

The cop looks around slowly. “I don’t think I trust your instincts if you’re vacationing in _New Jersey_.”

“Excuse me, I _happen_ to be a travel agent. I’m smarter than my personal travel plans would indicate.”

The cop laughs and leans off the car, pulling the brim of her hat down slightly. “Well. I’ll certainly keep you in mind, miss.”

The driver’s eyes skim over the cop from boots to hat. “Hm. I hope so.”

 

+++

 

The music is too loud, the bar is too crowded, and the writer doesn’t even want to be here. She makes her way over to the counter and sits down directly in front of the bartender with a heavy sigh.

“You look like you could use a drink. Maybe six of them,” the bartender says.

“Could I just get a water?” the writer asks.

“Of course.” The bartender leans against the counter and slides her a glass. “Designated driver?”

“In a way. My sister dragged me out here to supervise her, and then she complained about me supervising her. She wasn’t even drinking yet.”

The bartender chuckles softly. “I can see how that would suck. Especially since I’m guessing that this isn’t really your kind of Friday night.”

“Uh, that would be a no,” the writer replies. “I write history books. Non-fiction. My Fridays are me nicely curled up in my den doing research.”

“Sounds like a good time.” The bartender gestures randomly at the bar. “This isn’t exactly where _I_ want to be right now, either. I work here nights, I work security during the day, and when I’m not exhausted from all of that, I’m trying to get a degree so that I can move up north where it’s quiet and teach science.”

“God,” the writer whispers, “moving somewhere quiet is my dream.”

The bartender winks at her. “You could always come with me.”

The writer laughs loudly. “You move fast, don’t you?”

“I’ve found that moving slow is the easiest way to become complacent with where I am in life. I’d rather move a bit too fast and trip over myself a few times and actually end up where I want to be.” The bartender grins. “I’d be lying if I said you weren’t hot, though. Sorry.”

“Oh, well, at least we have that.”

“There _is_ that,” the bartender snickers.

The writer stares at her for a long moment. Just stares. Then glances behind her and sees her sister happily hanging out with a mutual friend and playing darts. When she turns back to the bartender, she asks, “What time do you get off shift?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

There’s another long pause, then the writer says, “Do you want to get out of here once you’re off?”

The bartender raises an eyebrow and grins. “I think I’d like that quite a bit.”

The writer buries her face in her hands. “Oh, Christ. I don’t even know your name.”

“Haught.”

“What?”

The bartender gives a soft smile and holds out her hand. “My name’s Nicole Haught.”

The writer accepts the handshake and returns the smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Nicole. I’m Waverly. Waverly Earp.”


End file.
